


With This Ring

by sinkauli



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cold Weather, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Trans Maladict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28130184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkauli/pseuds/sinkauli
Summary: Maladict scowled at the weather outside. The weather scowled back.... but they do get there in the end.
Relationships: Maladict/Polly "Ozzer" Perks
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	With This Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



"I'm not so sure that we're doing the right thing," Polly said -- or rather Ozzer, because she was in uniform, and her best at that. "Do you really want to introduce me to your family?"

"Well, since we're--" Mal shrugged and drained his coffee cup.

"A couple?"

"'Engaged' was the word I wasn't saying. Anyway, that needs the family ring, and the family ring is in the ancestral mansion. And we are very much _not_ in the ancestral mansion yet." He scowled at the weather outside. The weather scowled back.

"Is this much snow normal here at this time of year?"

"Completely normal. What's not normal is wanting to travel through it. Landlord! Another coffee."

The landlord was short and stout and apprehensive. He'd seen Maladict's black ribbon but he'd also seen Maladict's nervous tic. When he brought the coffee he put it down on the table and left the empty cup there in order to better wring his hands. He wrung his hands.

"Sirs, I am so sorry."

"About the weather?" Polly asked. "There's nothing you could have done about that. Or anyone for that matter."

"Sirs, the room I made ready for you is-- It's had an accident."

Maladict raised one eyebrow. Polly tried to do that too, but she could only manage both at once.

"An accident," Maladict said.

"The roof has fallen in. The room is full of snow."

"Do you have a basement?" Polly asked. Or rather Sergeant Perks asked, because she was asking it in a military manner. "Or an attic for that matter. With a good sturdy roof-beam."

The landlord nodded, trembling.

"Make up a pallet for me there and my corporal can sleep on the roof-beam." She knew he was likely to do that anyway; she'd missed him from the bed in the morning more times than she cared to remember, to find him fast asleep in the bat position.

"Are you completely--"

"It's all right," Mal said. "Another coffee. And something to eat."

The food was mystery meat, probably some kind of rodent from a trap under the snow, but it was better than scubbo or ancient horse, even ancient horse that Shufti had been at.

Mollified by several cups of coffee --mediocre coffee, true, but it was at least convincingly black and there was a kick to it-- and the promise of a comfortable roof-beam, Mal got up from the table. "Let's go and seek out that pallet."

* * *

In the morning, the snow had at least stopped falling. There was enough on the ground for it to have run out up there.

"Listen," Maladict said to the girl making breakfast, "I know you have carrier pigeons. I've seen them."

"They're not on the menu," she said. She was a lot more unflappable than last night's man who might or might not be her father.

"I'll eat marmot, thank you," Maladict said. "But you might have one that's homing for the de Magpyr estate? The one on the border? I'd like to send a message so Igor can come and collect us. And bring the pigeon back so you're not short-handed."

"You're very considerate," she said, carefully not adding the rest. Moments later, there was a softly cooing cage on Polly and Mal's table and Mal was busy scribbling tiny letters on a tiny piece of paper.

"Can your Igor read?" Polly asked.

"All Igors can read," Mal said. "It comes with the job. They have to take a lot of notes."

The pigeon took off, looking affronted. It was a couple of hours before they heard the ringing of bells outside, accompanied by muffled hoofbeats.

The door creaked. An Igor came stomping in, wrapped head to toe in fur. Perhaps some of the fur was sewn on. "Come to pick up the mithtreth," he said.

"Master," Maladict said. "I should have specified. And this is Sergeant Perks."

"Mathter, thorry," Igor said without hesitation. "Here'th the bird." He carefully extricated the pigeon from somewhere inside all the wrappings. It looked a bit untidy and even more affronted than before. The girl took it from him and put it back in the cage.

The hooves turned out to belong to a beast of a sort Polly had never seen in her life. It had the feet of a plough-horse, the pelt of a bear, the antlers of a stag and the muzzle and ears of a wolf, not to speak of parts of several other animals that she didn't recognize right away.

Igor saw her looking. "I made that, thergeant," he said proudly.

"I thought so. I wish our Igor could see it. Igorina in the regiment, I mean. She'd be so interested. Could you share your notes or is that a secret?"

"No thecreth among Igorth," Igor said.

* * *

It was a long winding sleigh-ride up a forbidding mountain. There wasn't a single building in sight. "Is this Überwald?" Polly asked.

"Not yet," Mal said, "we're still in Borogravia. The family house is right on the border. Both countries deny possession of it."

It was bitterly cold, even with all the furs from the pile that Igor had thoughtfully provided. It started to snow again. But after the next pass, something easily as forbidding as the mountain stood out starkly against the grey sky.

Mal was silent and shivery, and Polly wished she'd thought of bringing a flask of coffee. Even cold coffee would perk him up now. She got an idea. "Igor?" she called.

"Thergeant?"

"Did you by any chance bring some coffee for your master?"

"Thertainly." He turned around completely to pass the flask, but the sleigh-beast seemed to know where it was going anyway.

"Thank you." She opened the flask and was surprised that the coffee inside was hot. " _Thank_ you! Did you invent this, too?"

"No, Igor invented it," Igor said. "My couthin over in Bonk."

Mal made short work of the contents of the flask. "Excellent," he pronounced. He looked no less pale, but much less stressed.

"Your aunt'th perthonal thupply," Igor said. "There'th more where it came from."

* * *

As they dismounted from the sleigh in front of the house, which looked just as forbidding from close up, a tiny woman came down the steps.

"That's Aunt Aspasia," Mal whispered to Polly. "Many times great-aunt in fact. Daunting, I admit, but no danger to you. She's the one who got me into the League of Temperance."

The old lady stretched out a pale hand. Mal kissed it. So did Polly, after some hesitation. Somehow, her first impulse had been to salute.

"So, Maladicta," Aunt Aspasia said. "Or do I say Maladict? And this is your consort?"

"Yes to the first, not yet to the second," Mal said. "She's Sergeant Perks."

"Polly," Polly offered. "My lady."

"Pah, I'm not _your_ lady. Call me Aunt like your young... man here."

Mal sniffed the air. "Where are all the rest? I can't smell any of them."

"Out hunting," Aunt Aspasia said with a disapproving look on her face. "Come in and sit by the fire. You look positively frozen, Sergeant Polly."

There was a fire. There were fur robes for both of them. There were many more servants than just Igor, bringing a pot of coffee, fragrant mulled wine, and all kinds of delicacies that Polly had never seen, let alone tasted. She didn't ask what kind of meat was in the meaty ones, but some at least tasted like mutton. There was Mal's old room, with a bed large enough to lose an entire family in.

"I'm not all that daunted," Polly said. "I think your aunt is sweet."

"You haven't tasted the bitter," Mal said. "And you haven't seen the rest of my family. But if we time this right, you won't have to." He pulled a silk-wrapped package from his pocket. "How romantic would you like it?"

Polly couldn't help dissolving in helpless laughter. "How romantic would _you_ like it?"

"For you, as romantic as you want. Shall I try to borrow something silken and flowing for you to wear, to go with the decor?"

"As someone told me years ago, I don't bulge in the right places."

"Igor could perhaps do something about... Don't do that! You're making me drop the ring."

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying for the "Maladict's family wants Polly to look like a horror heroine" prompt, but it went another way!


End file.
